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where to buy Clomiphene 2013 Meanwhile, back in New York it's probably snowing.

http://pedrocabiya.com/tag/alexander-kinyua/ We woke up to Easter Sunday in New Orleans. We planned to go to church and get down to Venice as quickly as possible – Catherine needed to drive back to Kentucky that same day. We also wanted to stop at a grocery store to make sure we had enough food for the rest of the day – we weren’t sure what would be open in Louisiana on Easter Sunday, especially as we headed down toward Venice.
On this last point we needn’t have worried. Southern Louisiana is very Catholic – no doubt about it – but on holidays this means things are open, not closed. In New Orleans it seemed like a real feast: people were out and about, stores were open, everyone was idle and consequently they were all in the streets. And consequently the shopkeepers were in their shops to lure in customers.

It took one sight of New Orleans for us both to ask, “So why is it that we and everyone else does not live here?” Everything was interesting. The people were of every sort: there were the aging white tourists who looked like they just got off a cruise boat, and black kids with their pants pulled down to their thighs like they stepped out of a Chicago ghetto, and tattooed-and-pierced young white couples begging on the streets with their dog – and don’t they always have a dog – and aging bald gay men laughing with each other in front of houses, and Southern aristocrats in their Easter best, and hardworking black mothers shepherding their kids to church, and hipsters not knowing what else to do on Easter morning and heading to brunch – and everything else. We couldn’t believe it. The bars were open, people were drinking on Easter morning. The sun was shining, it was eighty degrees, the air was soft and warm, it was incredible. This was what Easter was supposed to be like – exuberant life, not a single daffodil cringing against a thawless wind.  The plants were amazing, hollies with ripe berries and blooms at the same time, palms flowering, flowers everywhere. The houses were interesting, each with character, not a McMansion or a pre-fab anywhere. How in the world had this city managed to be attached to this continent this long without Americans destroying it? It was a miracle.

Elsewhere, plants bloom then set fruit. In New Orleans they have blooms and fruits at the same time.

And the French Quarter – it seemed huge, much bigger than I remembered. Most American cities can find a block or two, or maybe a square two blocks by two blocks, which is preserved and adorable. The French Quarter just goes on and on – it actually exhausts tourists by being so big, and its edges feel almost independent of the silliness down by the river and the madness on Bourbon Street. We walked through the Quarter to the Cathedral, but we were coming only roughly on time, and it was completely packed. Well-dressed natives and tourists in shorts were streaming toward it from every direction, but they would not be getting in. We walked to the Jesuit Church in the Business District. Mass there started in a half hour, and while it got completely full, we had plenty of time to arrive early and get seats. Of course – it being New Orleans – I walked in and immediately recognized someone, the owner of the very fine Arcadian Books, who served as a church usher (and an usually competent one too, moving people around to get the pews to full capacity). We spoke briefly, about my interest in Mississippi-River books, and he told me he had stuff for me – come to the shop.

I was utterly happy with mass – the sermon was not dumb, I was excited, it was Easter, it was New Orleans, the weather was great, I felt full of life. Life out of death, life out of death. The crowd was mostly but not exclusively white, well-dressed, and looked a bit on the intelligent side of things – typical crowd for a Jesuit church. In fact they resembled a Manhattan congregation: very few young kids; the church had probably been chosen by the communicants for its aesthetic and intellectual qualities. If you had kids you probably just went to whatever church was closest.

From church we went to Cafe du Monde, which was a madhouse – lines going everywhere, tables all packed – and then just walked through the Quarter until we found a likely restaurant for breakfast. Our table was very close to two young ladies, who were charmingly energetic and perhaps a bit loud – which I don’t mind, because in life the hardest thing is to get a vision of the inside, and when people just give you one for nothing I am appreciative.

“Yeah with him you know there was always something between us but nothing ever happened. So he’s just a friend. He like biked down here all the way from Chicago. He’s always doing cool stuff.”

I perked up when I heard this, but said nothing at the time. Later they were talking about something else – more boy-problems – when one turned to me and said, “We must be like really obnoxious I’m sorry we’re so loud.”

“I don’t mind at all,” I said. “In fact there’s something I wanted to ask you about. You mentioned a friend who had biked down here from Chicago.”

“Yeah Paul.”

We have made it to the Gulf of Mexico. Blooming palms.

“Would you mind giving me his information? I’m biking up the whole Mississippi River to Minnesota, starting today, and it’d be great to speak with someone who’s gone over the route.”

“Oh yeah I’m sure Paul would have no problem with that. But why don’t I get your info, I’ll give it to Paul, that way he’s not saying, ‘So, like you just gave out my info to some stranger?’ But I’m sure he’ll contact you, he’d find it interesting.” And I gave them my email and phone number and just like that they resumed their conversation and seemed to completely forget about us.

But it was amazing. What were the chances of being linked up with another long-distance cyclist within hours of making it to New Orleans?

I checked my phone.

“Damn,” I said. “We missed checkout for our hotel.” New Orleans had slowed us down already. It was time to get out of there.  Another hour or two and we’d head for a bar and never leave.